


Summer Solstice

by newwaves



Category: Scooby Doo - All Media Types
Genre: Backstory, Crime Fighting, F/F, F/M, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Mystery, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2020-10-05 16:46:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20492018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newwaves/pseuds/newwaves
Summary: Velma Dinkley is home from university for the summer. When she and her friends attend a Hex Girls concert that goes wrong they're suddenly left questioning everything they thought they knew.Can this group of unlikely but inseparable outcasts solve the mystery?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The characters/backstories/etc. are an amalgamation of my favourite ideas from the various iterations of the show and my own headcanons.
> 
> tw/ lesbophobic slur in this chapter.

Velma sat on her bed, looking around her room. Her posters had been taken down, her clothes packed away. Her mom was coming to pick her up tomorrow morning. She was going home for the summer, having just finished her second year at university. Her phone lit up, it was a text from Daphne: “_HEX GIRLS TOMORROW!!!!! YEAH BABYYYYY!_”

Velma smiled. She tapped in a reply, saying she couldn’t wait and was looking forward to seeing them all again. She missed her friends when she was at university. They had a group chat and spoke on facetime regularly, but it wasn’t the same as hanging out in person.

She put her phone down, getting up from her bed to start her nightly routine of checking, double-checking, and triple-checking her locks. Velma had always been cautious but it had gotten worse when she left for university. She’d been diagnosed with OCD a few months in. It was exhausting. She waggled the door handle, her the dull clunk that told her the door was definitely locked. She continued until she was satisfied, walking back towards her bed. She stopped, turning back to her door and checking again. She knew she wasn’t crazy, she knew people were bad. Unlike her parents - whose own bookstore-cum-curio museum she would spend her summer working in - she didn’t believe in ghouls and goblins. She did, however, believe in bad people.

Finally forcing herself away from the door, she returned to her bed. She curled up on top of the covers and thought about going home to Crystal Cove tomorrow, seeing her friends again. It got her thinking about when they all reunited. 

She could remember exactly when they all started talking again. She had gotten into school one day only to be greeted by the words “VELMA DINKLEY IS A DYKE” spray-painted on her locker. People started avoiding her even more than normal. Velma expected that people thought she was meant to be hurt - devastated - by what happened, but more than anything she had found it funny. it’s not like her being a lesbian was a secret; not to people that actually knew her anyway. Daphne had come to her defence, towering over the shorter girl, attempting to protect her from the taunts. Velma welcomed the company, even if she thought that Daphne’s saviour complex was a bit much. With Daphne came Fred too, seeing as they had been a couple at the time. They had taken to eating lunch together; Daphne, her white knight, shooting daggers at anyone that dare snigger in their direction. Velma had thought a lot about how that graffiti had brought her best friends back into her life.

She still wasn’t sure if the perpetrators actually knew the truth or just thought that it was a funny thing to say about someone you didn’t like. She decided it didn’t matter. She didn’t care what other people thought about her. She knew who she was and she refused to let other people make her feel bad about it.

Shaggy didn’t come along until later. One lunchtime Velma had found herself not sitting with Fred and Daphne like normal, but, instead in detention. It wasn’t her fault that her teachers were wrong and she was right. She hadn’t been alone in missing her freedom, however. Shaggy had sat slumped at a desk near her. They sat in silence for the first half-hour, not speaking until Ms Adams left the room to use the bathroom.

“So how did you get here?”

Velma had almost forgotten he was there.

“Mr Brentwood didn’t appreciate me correcting him in front of 10th grade biology class”

Shaggy snickered, “Nice.”

“What about you?”

He turned away from her, shrugging slightly “I didn’t do my homework again.”

They sat in silence for a while until Shaggy suddenly spoke again.

“So, is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“Well, uh... the, you know, that you’re-“ He stumbled over his words.

“A dyke?”

Shaggy blanched at her use of such an abrasive word. Velma’s demeanour immediately softened, turning to face him and smiling. “Yes, I’m a lesbian.”

“Oh. Neat.”

He smiled at her.

Ms Adams returned to the room and both their heads snapped back to their desks, pretending to work.

When the bell rang and they were both finally freed from Ms Adams lunchtime penitentiary, Velma lingered outside the door, waiting for Shaggy. 

“You know you don’t have to sit by yourself at lunch? You can come sit with me, and Daphne and Fred. Like old times.”

“I don’t always sit by myself. Sometimes I sit with the A.V. Club.”

“Well the invitation is there if you change your mind.”

The next day Shaggy sat down at their table at lunchtime. And it had stayed that way until they had all graduated.

‘Shaggy’ was a nickname he’d picked up in childhood. His mother Lana had despaired of his scruffy appearance. He was a boisterous child, running around outside all day. He would come home covered in grass stains with rips in his new trousers and twigs in his hair. His mother thought he looked like a hippy. She called him Her Own Little Shaggy Hippy, eventually shortened to just Shaggy for ease. The name stuck. He preferred it to his real first name anyway. He always thought Norville was more suited to an old man instead of him.

Shaggy wasn’t quite sure what his parents, Lana and Afi, did for a living. He just knew that it was important and that meant that they weren’t home very much. He was an only child and when he was younger they had worried about him getting lonely. That’s when they rescued Scooby for him. Scooby was a giant mutt, a mix of a Great Dane and an Alsatian. Shaggy adored him.

Shaggy couldn’t pinpoint for sure when exactly, but somewhere between his rambunctious childhood and melancholy adolescence, his boisterous nature had subsided, leaving a cruel anxiety in its place. When Shaggy was sixteen, he had found Buddhism. He had recently decided to become a vegetarian after accidentally catching a tv programme about the cruelties of the meat industry. Sure, he was known for his insatiable appetite, but ever since then he had balked at the prospect of eating an animal. Just as he’d become a vegetarian, Shaggy stumbled upon Buddhism quite by accident. Whilst he’d not been raised religious, he knew that his parents had been raised Christian in their native Samoa. They had decided not to do the same for their only son, saying something about colonialism – Shaggy hadn’t been listening properly. He’d been sprawled on his bed, Scooby curled at the end of it, searching for techniques to help with his anxiety. It was then he learnt about mindfulness, tracking its roots as a therapeutic practice back to Buddhism. The more he read about Buddhism, the more interested he became. He hadn’t gone through any official conversion of sorts, but he classed himself as a Buddhist nonetheless, practicing meditation whenever he could.

Daphne’s parents, Nan and Vincent, had moved from Venezuela when her eldest two sisters were young. Her mother was an art collector and her father a real estate agent. Daphne was gorgeous, tall and leggy, with long red hair. Her mother had converted to Judaism in her early thirties, raising Daphne and her sisters the same way. Daphne and Velma saw each other every week at synagogue.

She was in nearly every club at school. She had been president of debate club and Tae Kwon Do club, as well as running cross-country for the school. She might not have cared about being part of the ‘popular’ crowd per se but nevertheless everyone loved her.

Her and Fred didn’t cross paths again until he tried out for the track team. Fred had tried out for every sports team on offer, his desperate attempt to please his family and their natural athleticism. Daphne had been in cross-country practice when the tryouts were taking place. She had been there to witness his dreadful attempt. When he didn’t make the team, she had gone to reassure him.

Fred’s parents were marine biologists. Peggy, his mother, had moved from Japan to California on a research grant, where she had met Skip Jones and fallen in love. They moved from San Diego to Crystal Cove after Fred’s younger sister Eiko was born, wishing to continue their research somewhere quieter. Fred had taken to bleaching his hair when he was fourteen. He thought it made him look taller somehow, not that he needed it. He was 6’3 and built like an Olympic swimmer, ironic when paired with his complete lack of athleticism. Like Daphne, Fred was well-regarded at their school. He was kind; charming, if a little naive sometimes.

In their final year at school the two had attempted to date. They weren’t really sure why. They got on really well and hung out all the time. Perhaps they’d felt an obligation in being a Pretty Girl and a Handsome Boy, what else were they supposed to do? Isn’t it what was meant to happen?

Their ill-fated coupling came to a crashing end on their prom night, after a disastrous attempt at virginity-taking that ended with them coming out to one another.

They had sat on the end of the hotel bed, Fred leaning on Daphne’s shoulder. She had stroked his hair whilst he talked.

“I’m sorry Daph, I can’t do this.”

“I know.”

“I’m gay.”

“I know.”

“You do?” He looked up at her, and she smiled back down at him.

“Yeah.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Daphne spoke again.

“Hey, it’s okay, I get it. I like men too!”

Fred chuckled, Daphne could hear his breath catching behind it and knew he must have been silently crying whilst they had sat there.

“... and girls.”

Fred sat upright. “Huh?”

“Yeah.” Daphne smiled meekly.

“When did you know?”

“Ooh,” Daphne sucked in air through her teeth, “Only if you tell me yours too.”

“Deal.”

“Okay,” she drew a deep breath before continuing, “Art class. Miss Leijten. I realised when I knew I liked looking at her more than I probably should, and I wanted to be around her all the time. I figured then that was probably not a platonic way to think about someone.”

“Wow. Miss Leijten.”

“Uh huh. Your turn.”

“I think, I think I always knew to some extent. I’m not sure. I wasn’t certain until after the wrestling tryouts though. God, it’s so cliché. I was paired with Brad Simms. He was slightly smaller than me, and so lithe. Even with sweat dripping from him I remember thinking he was stunning. He pinned me to the floor and I could feel his whole bodyweight on top of mine. It felt like my skin was on fire, burning a hole right through me to the ground. I’d never felt anything like that before. It was amazing and disorienting. That’s when I knew.”

“Oh Freddie!” Daphne cackled, grabbing his wrist as she fell back onto the bed, laughing so hard the bed shook.

“Hey! You have no idea how hard it is to try and hide an erection in a lycra singlet!”

Daphne laughed harder, gasping for air and she wiped tears from her eyes. She stopped laughing abruptly, looking up at Fred, still sitting upright, glaring at her as she tried to hold a straight face. She broke almost immediately, with Fred following suit, finally relenting to the laughter and falling next to her onto the bed.

“It was horrible. I was in the bathroom trying to whack it back down while my dad was waiting impatiently for me in the parking lot. He was so angry I was late.”

The bed shook with their laughter.

After their laughter had finally dissipated they had lain in silence for a while. Breathing calmly. Daphne had been beginning to think that Fred had fallen asleep when his hand crept into hers.

“I love you, Daph.”

“I love you too, Freddie.”

They fell asleep like that, clutching each other on the dingy hotel bed. They were so much lighter than before.

* * *

They had all first met in elementary school. They’d been great friends; inseparable, even. It was Fred that had first gotten them involved in mysteries. He had been terrified of the Monster under his bed. Every day he would come into school with a new piece of the puzzle, a new piece of imagined lore about the Monster, and every night he would struggle to sleep, scared of the scratching sounds he could hear. He would call for his parents, frightened of what the Monster would do. Eventually his father gave in, telling Fred that the two of them would boobytrap his room so that when the Monster came to get him, they could stop it once and for all. Fred loved every second of it, the building, the strategy, the planning, the idea that something evil could be made just as vulnerable as him. When the clunk of the booby trap catching its victim came that night Fred felt a sense of accomplishment like never before. It didn’t even matter to him when it turned out that his Monster had only been their poor cat Ernie.

After elementary school, the group had gone to different middle schools, drifting apart the way old school friends tend to do. Daphne and Velma still saw each other at Synagogue every week, smiling politely at each other whilst their mothers made civil small talk. Whilst the others moved on, Fred’s fascination with mysteries remained. Making that trap with his dad has been the start of something. He became obsessive about engineering. Academics had never been his strong suit, his dyslexia made school difficult and he didn’t see the point in learning about Shakespeare when there were more important things to think about. He had found something he was good at. On his fourteenth birthday his parents had relented, relinquishing their garage to his workshop. Fred would spend hours in there, plotting and planning, making all sorts of mechanisms and unnecessary inventions. It was what he had wanted to do as a career, but when he finished school he hadn’t got the grades to get into university. He’d taken up an internship as a cameraman at his uncle’s production studio. It was no engineering but it was fine.

Where Fred had been working as an apprentice cameraman for his uncle, and Velma had gone off to university, Daphne had felt left behind. This wasn’t helped when Shaggy landed a job in a kitchen at a local diner. To the surprise of his friends, he was an amazing chef. He shrugged it off, saying that he’d learnt to cook out of boredom, with his parents away so often. Daphne, meanwhile, wanted to go to university more than anything. She desperately wanted her degree in journalism, but as fate would have it she was stuck, working as a temp for her dad’s real estate company. Her parents were wonderful and she adored them and assured her she could go to university, of course she could, but she wanted to pay for it herself. She didn’t want to be the sort of person who relied on her parents just because they were rich. So, there she was, stuck sitting behind a desk, typing up emails and filing all day until her eyes bled. She had been there nearly two years. She was still barely halfway to being able to afford to attend the university of her dreams. She was beginning to feel that perhaps her career in journalism had been nothing more than a pipedream.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hi, Mom!” Velma greeted her mother warmly, being pulled into a tight hug.

“I missed you, darling!”

“I missed you too, Mom.”

Velma helped her mom pack her belongings into the car and off they drove, back towards Crystal Cove. Velma looked over at her mother as she was driving. Angie Dinkley was a robust woman in her mid-fifties. Her glasses were almost comical in size, taking up most of her face. Her hair had been in the same messy bob for as long as Velma could remember. Sometimes Velma wondered if she would look like her mother when she was her age, she’d already inherited her stature and rotundness. Not that looking like her mother would be a bad thing. Velma adored her mother. She was kind and caring, and the best cook Velma had ever known.

“So, your father and I were wondering if you’d met any nice ladies this year?”

“No, Mom. I’ve been studying.”

“Velma, darling. You know how proud your dad and I are of you, our perfect little girl being a college genius, but you have to have a life too! You’re twenty, honey. You’re only that age once!”

“Technically you’re only any age once.”

“Don’t get clever with me. We’re just worried about you, that’s all. We just want to know you’re being fulfilled in all parts of your life at college. Are you, Velma?”

“Oh, God. Am I, what?”

“Are you being sexually fulfilled, sweetie?”

“Mom! I am not talking about this with you!”

“Hmm. Fine. I’m just looking out for you. Hey, what about that nice Daphne? I heard she goes both ways, or whatever you kids say now. You’re seeing her and the other ones tonight, aren’t you? Now, she’s pretty, and a nice Jewish girl, too.”

“Ugh, Mom. I don’t like Daphne like that. She’s my friend. Now, can we _please _stop talking about this!”

“Okay. Message received.”

They arrived at the Dinkley family home in the late afternoon. Having dumped her bags in her room, Velma came downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table. She was eating toast when her father entered. Dale Dinkley was the stereotypical suburban father - if that father also ran a curio museum with his wife and was obsessed with the supernatural.

“There’s my little genius!”

“Hi, Dad.”

Velma grinned as her dad wrapped her into a hug. He released her, holding her at arm’s length to properly look her up and down.

“You’ve grown!”

“I haven’t.”

“Ah, you’ve been gone so long I thought I’d forgotten what you looked like!”

“Same as always, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, nonsense, my beautiful girl. Speaking of which, your mother tells me there are no girls in the picture.”

“Oh God, you too?”

“We just want you to have fun!”

“I am having fun _and _I’m going to a concert tonight.”

“Oh, yes, those vampire girls.”

“They’re Wiccan.”

“Hmm, okay. Oh, take your little brother too, won’t you? He really wants to go.”

“I am not taking Jacob to see the Hex Girls, Dad.”

“That’s an argument you have to have with him I think.”

Just as Velma was about to argue back – her younger brother was decidedly _not _going to see the Hex Girls with her and her friends – a horn sounded from outside.

“Oh, that’s my friends, got to go!”

She grabbed her backpack off the chair she’d left it on, rushing towards her front door.

“Take your brother!” Her dad called after her.

“Can’t hear you! Bye, Dad; love you!”

She shut the door behind her, grinning as she took in the sight of Fred’s campervan in her driveway.

Daphne’s head appeared out of the passenger window.

“Whoo! Velma Dinkley is back in the Cove! Look out girls and gays, the Hex Girls are waiting for us!”

Velma swung open the side door, hoisting herself up into the old van, dumping her bag on the carpet. She was greeted to a cacophony of ‘_we missed you, Velm_’s, ‘_glad you’re back_’s, and ‘_Hex Girls time!_’s.

Scooby trotted across from where he’d been laying, nuzzling his head against Velma’s knee to greet her.

“Hey, Scoob.”

She scratched his head as he settled back down beside her, resting his weight against her side.

“Hey, Shag?” Fred called out from the driver’s seat, “Speaking of Scooby, I don’t think you can bring dogs into the concert.”

“They’ll have to let him in if I say he’s my therapy dog.”

“Won’t he get spooked by the loud music?”

“Nah, Scoob loves the Hex Girls.”

“If you say so.”

Much to Fred’s disbelief, Shaggy had indeed managed to somehow successfully grant Scooby access to the concert. Upon entry however, he’d almost immediately been snagged by security, dragging him off to a backroom, quizzing him as to how and _why _he’d thought bringing a dog to a crowded concert was a good idea. Shaggy rolled his eyes and waved a hand towards the gang as he was escorted off, letting them know he’d catch up with them later.

The venue was unlike any other concert Velma had been to before. The Hex Girls were performing in an old reclaimed Anglican church. Floodlights outside the church broke through the stained glass at the back of building, where the altar would previously have been. Purples and reds and golds and greens cast across the rudimentary stage area. A pop-up bar was stationed at the back near where the font must have previously been. Fred had made a beeline for it the second they passed into the concert area, leaving Velma and Daphne alone.

“So, how’s being back home?”

“I’ve been back five minutes and my parents are already interrogating every inch of my life.”

“Hey, if you’d stayed here you would’ve had that the whole time!”

Awkward silence fell. Velma knew that Daphne was upset that she had left, even if she had been happy for her chance to expand her education. She knew Daphne felt left behind in Crystal Cove whilst all her friends made progress with their lives and she was stuck in a job she hated. Guilt coursed through Velma, a hot sweat prickling at the back of her neck.

She quickly changed the subject.

“Hey, where did Fred go?”

“He’s trying his luck at the bar.” Daphne gestured over her shoulder to where Fred stood, leant across the bar, talking to the bartender. The bartender was a tall man, with broad shoulders and a shock of black hair, he could have been anywhere between two years older and ten years older than the rest of them. They watched as Fred scribbled something onto a napkin and slid it across the bar, winking at the man behind it. They continued to watch as Fred strode confidently towards them, and also as the bartender crumpled the napkin and tossed it unceremoniously into the trash.

“Your beverage, my young friend.” He handed Velma a drink with a cocky flourish.

“So, how’d it go?” Daphne nodded her head in the direction of the bar. Over her shoulder, Velma could see the bartender, now deep in lively conversation with a striking statuesque man.

“I am so in there.” He smirked, walking ahead of them as they made their way toward their seats.

Daphne and Velma swapped sympathetic looks behind his back.

The Hex Girls appeared on stage after fifteen minutes of excited chatter from the audience. Dusk appeared first, rising from a platform below the stage. Pyrotechnics sprung out behind her and she began playing a fast rhythm on her drum kit. Luna followed, being carried in on a sedan chair, already joining in with the song on the keytar she was sporting. A full minute passed with just the two of them onstage, whipping the crowd into a frenzy of anticipation with their rhythmic thumping. Finally, a familiar voice – it’s owner unseen – called out through the speakers:

> “_In a small town one Halloween strange events had been reported. In that small town, three plucky young girls had taken it upon themselves to solve the mystery. They were drawn to the outskirts of town, to a dark forest. They delved deep into its bowels, where they stumbled across an old barn. And that barn had bright white light streaming from its windows. The girls were curious, and far too naïve for their own good. They entered the barn, and the door slammed shut behind them. An old lady sat in the centre of the room, all light now gone. She questioned the girls – who were they and what were they doing in her barn? They explained the strange events. The old woman smiled. They recognised her. She was Mother Nature. She beckoned the girls towards her and they sat down at her feet. She told them the great secrets of Earth. They sat for weeks, listening to her stories. As they left she gifted each girl with a new ability. The power to spread her message. More than that, they had gained … the power to _rock_.”_

Thunder clapped over the speakers, smoke pouring out into the venue. Purple, green and black spotlights shone dizzyingly out into the audience. As the smoke began to clear, a figure could be seen, descending from the ceiling on a wire. It was Thorn.

A scream erupted from her: “HIT IT SISTERS!”

Their opening song exploded through the speakers. 

The Hex Girls were well into their fifth song of the night when Fred announced to his friends that he was heading back to the bar for more drinks.

“Oh, _Freddie_.” Velma cooed.

“Tell me about it.” Daphne rolled her eyes, “You know he’s been like this all year? I love him to pieces but that boy is hopeless. He needs a boyfriend like some people need a good slap in the face.”

Velma laughed, she had really missed Daphne’s way with words. “Eloquent as ever, Daph.”

“I try.” Daphne smirked.

Velma opened her mouth to speak again when a loud cracking sound knocked the words out of her. The stained-glass window behind the band had been shattered as a figure swung in through it, landing in the middle of the stage. Feedback blew the speakers out; the music stopping abruptly. The church was in dead silence for a split second before a giant crashing sound indicated one of the amplifiers had been toppled over, leaving a hole in the stage. The lights went out. The audience started screaming. Velma was pushed every which way as people franticly steamrolled over her towards the exits. The building shook as the stampede, fraught with panic, battled towards the doors. The ceiling croaked and groaned, a bow came crashing down, diverting the traffic of people. Someone had been trapped under the beam. There was so much screaming. Panic. Velma had been frozen dead in her place since this began. She could no longer see Daphne in the crowd or Fred at the bar, and God knows what had happened to Shaggy and Scooby at the back of the building. She stared in horror up at the stage. The band had stayed in place. Everything had happened so quickly. She could barely see them now, she had been pushed so far back from the stage. All she heard was another final, loud crack followed by screams from the band. She fought against the current of the crowd, struggling past people to get free. The last thing she saw was the stage, Dusk and the figure had disappeared. Dusk was slumped on her knees, her head in her hands. Luna stood behind her, a hand resting comfortingly on her back. She was about to say something, call out to them to ask what had happened when something hard made contact with the back of her head and everything went black.


	3. Chapter 3

Her head throbbed. She stirred. She was in bed. What had happened? How had she gotten back home? She tried to roll over but something tugged on her hand. She opened her eyes groggily, immediately forcing them shut at the bright white lights above her.

“Velma? V?”

She blinked the spots of her eyes and finally managed to pull them all the way open. She looked around, confused. Her room wasn’t white. A blurry figure handed her her glasses. She put them up, still blinking. It was Shaggy. Why was Shaggy here?

“Velma, you’re awake! Oh, man. You’re in hospital, are you okay?”

She looked around the room, suddenly noticing the steady beep beside her, the tugging on her hand had been the pulse oximeter probe clipped to her left forefinger. She knew her room wasn’t white.

“What happened?” She slurred, still waking up.

“The Hex Girls show? Part of the ceiling came down, it knocked you unconscious. That was yesterday. They kept you in overnight to see if you were concussed or had internal bleeding or something. Your uh parents were here all night but they went home to get you some clothes. And uh, Daphne here,” he nodded towards the chair next to her bed where Daphne was slumped uncomfortably, snoring lightly, Velma hadn’t noticed her before, “and me, we wanted to come and visit to see if you were okay. Freddie wanted to come to but he broke his leg last night and his parents have gone all hyper-protective and ‘_oh my poor baby’ _over him so he couldn’t leave his house.”

Velma blinked. The words swam through the thick air towards her, swirling in her brain. Her thoughts felt like treacle. She took a minute to process everything that she’d heard.

“Are you two okay?”

“Oh, yeah, I was lucky I guess. As soon as the commotion started the security dude let me go and I was right near the entrance. Daphne just said she was caught up in the crowd and was practically carried out of the building before anything could happen.”

“What about the…?”  
The words had sunk in her brain jam. She couldn’t reach in far enough to pull them out again.

“A bunch of people were injured when the ceiling came down, and are in here too. Some whacko broke in through the glass and started the commotion. They knocked some amplifiers over, and the stage broke. When everyone came stampeding out the structural integrity of the old church couldn’t take it. But, uh…” He looked towards the empty space next to her on the bed, “Can I?”

Velma nodded, shuffling herself over so that Shaggy could perch next to her.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and brought up a video from a news site, handing it over to her. It was a news report about what had happened at the concert. She couldn’t make out the blocky words in the ticker at the bottom of the screen, but the reporter looked grim. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. She looked up to face Shaggy, his expression equally stony.

“They kidnapped Dusk, Velm.”

* * *

She was discharged from the hospital the next morning. After she had spent the rest of the afternoon being subjected to various tests and any sign of internal bleeding or brain trauma had been ruled out she was given the all-clear to head on home. Her parents had come to collect her in their beaten-up old saloon car.

Three days passed of Velma sitting around at her house, her dad coming in to check on her incessantly whilst her mom was out at work. The doctors had informed her parents to keep an eye on her and see if any of her concussive symptoms lingered for longer than normal or appeared to worsen. Of course, them being who they were, meant that Velma had three days with absolutely no privacy even though she was feeling largely better. The third day after she had been discharged she had finally managed to convince her dad to let her out of the house to meet up with her friends.

She borrowed their car, driving out to the roadside diner where Shaggy worked. It wasn’t the nicest place in the world, in fact, Velma would go as far to say it was fairly dingy. She would never let on about that to Shaggy of course, who was insanely proud of himself for not just having a job, but managing to keep it for longer than a week. She entered the diner, catching Fred’s eye as she did so. He waved her over to the booth where him and Daphne were sitting; Scooby snoozing gently under the table.

“Hey guys.” She slid down into the booth next to Daphne, careful not to shake the table as she did so as not to knock Fred’s crutches from where he had propped them up next to him.

“How are you feeling?” Fred smiled at her kindly across the table.

“Better, thanks. My dad finally let me out of the house today. What about you, how’s the leg?”  
“Oh,” Fred winced, “Annoying, mostly. It’s hard to move around with this concrete block on my leg. And it means I can’t drive my van!”

“But it does mean I get to be your very own personal chauffeur until you’re fixed!” Daphne grinned at him menacingly across the table.

“Ugh, exactly. This is why I need it to heal, and quick. I don’t want you ruining my baby.”

Daphne stuck her tongue out at him.

The jovial tone of their conversation immediately dissipated as Velma spoke, “Is it just me or have you all not been able to stop thinking about what happened at the Hex Girls concert, either?”

Shaggy appeared at their table carrying a tray of decadent milkshakes, and a small bowl of the same for Scooby. He had taken to slighting extra foodstuffs from the kitchen after his shifts finished to share with his friends. He gently placed the bowl on the floor, and handed the drinks out to the group, scooting down into the booth beside Fred. He absentmindedly scratched Scooby’s head as he spoke, “Like, which part? The part where I was detained by security, or the part where the ceiling caved in and I thought I was going to die?”

“I mean what happened to Dusk.”

“Yeah, it’s awful.” Daphne looked sullen, twiddling her nameplate necklace between her thumb and her forefinger absentmindedly, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it either. I mean that poor girl. God knows what she must be going through.”

“Did you see that report?” Fred piped up, “they said the creep that took her was dressed like some sort of ghoul thing?”

Shaggy sat bolt upright, “Oh, man. You’re kidding, right Freddie? This is not the way I wanted to find out that ghouls are real.”

“Uh… _no_, I’m not kidding. And ghouls _aren’t _real, Shag. I said they were _dressed _like one.”

“Okay, well when that ghoul is on the news and monsters start creeping and crawling out of who-knows-where and you were the one saying they weren’t real, I’m sure you’ll feel really great about yourself.”

Fred rolled his eyes.

Velma couldn’t stop thinking about that. “A _ghoul_?” What kind of ghoul? And what did that even mean?

“Yeah, here.” Fred shimmied his phone out of his jeans pocket, bringing a news report up and sliding it into the middle of the table so they could all see.

The report stated that Dusk – otherwise known as Amanda Wilson – had been taken from the concert during the commotion. The reporter noted that an eyewitness had stated that a person dressed in some sort of elaborate costume had crashed through the window above the stage, causing the confusion and stampede of the crowd. The intruder had somehow managed to smuggle Dusk away during this, and there were no current suspects.

They all stared at the phone in silence whilst they absorbed the information.

Daphne was the first to speak.

“Wait, _Wilson_? Why do I recognise that name?”

Shaggy shrugged, “Hey, Dusk comes from money, doesn’t she? Maybe she knows your family somehow.”

“That’s not how it works, Shaggy.”

“I’m just saying Big Money Blake might know the Wilsons.”

“’_Big Money Blake_’? Is that what you’re calling my dad now? That’s a terrible nickname!”

“Well you’d know BMJ.”

“’BMJ’? Oh, Big Money Junior. Nice. That doesn’t even make sense. You know I’m the youngest of five! If I was anything I’d be BM VI.”

“Oh! Nice. Sixy!” Fred exclaimed.

“’_Sixy_’? What is _that _now?”

“Uh, ‘sixy’ like sexy… It was a joke because you’d be the sixth of your name.” His response was sheepish.

“That’s disgusting.”

* * *

Two days had passed and Velma was now sat behind the counter at her parents’ shop. The TV blared behind her. She absentmindedly flipped through a book in front of her. She’d read it a hundred times before and she couldn’t bring herself to concentrate. She still hadn’t been able to stop thinking about everything that had happened at the Hex Girls concert. Why had someone wanted to kidnap Dusk? Why then? Why there? How had no one stopped it? She heard the familiar chime of the six o’clock news on the screen behind her and realised her mom would be coming to help her close up and drive her home soon. She swivelled to face the television, interested to see more coverage of the events of the concert. It was a press conference appeal with Dusk’s – _Amanda Wilson’s_\- parents. Her mother sat sobbing behind a long table, barely getting her words out, whilst her father sat solemnly beside her, a hand on her shoulder. They looked terrible. Velma felt a sharp pang of sorrow for them.

“That poor girl’s parents.” Her own mother had appeared behind her. Velma had been so caught up in the news and her own thoughts that she hadn’t heard her enter.

“Yeah.”

“They used to be famous, you know?”

“Seriously? I didn’t know that.”  
“Oh yeah, they were big time. Famous magicians. Me and your father saw them live once; fantastic show.”  
“How didn’t I know that?”  
“Oh you know how it is. Fame dries up. They went out of style when the magic scene moved more towards illusion and mentalism.”  
“Huh.”

“And to think now they’ll always be the couple whose daughter was kidnapped at her own concert.”

“Oh, _Mom_.” She groaned.

“And by Jan Tregeagle too!”

“A what?”

“Jan Tregeagle, dear. You know, Cornish folklore?”

“Funnily enough, no.”

“Hang on, I’m sure there’s a book about him here somewhere.”

Her mother wandered off into the maze of aisles, returning five minutes later holding a giant red, leather-bound book.

“Here, look…” the book thumped down onto the table, Angie strained slightly as she heaved the gargantuan thing open to the correct page.

She poked a finger at the page, tracing as she explained to her daughter.

“Jan Tregeagle was a magistrate in the early 17thCentury under the Duchy of Cornwall. He was known for being exceptionally cruel. Stories about him become commonplace – campfire stories as it were – everything from robbing orphans, to murdering his wife, to making a deal with the Devil. He was so vile that his reign of terror continued even after his death, with his wretched spirit still supposedly wreaking havoc in Cornwall.”

“What? A ghost? How do you even know about any of this? I was there and all I saw was some figure? How are you so certain it’s this man?”

“Oh honey, you know I keep up with all the forums.” She sighed, reaching over to stroke her daughter’s hair, “I don’t know what I’d do in that poor girl’s parents’ position. There’s just no defeating a spirit like that.”

“Mom, a girl was kidnapped! People were injured! And you’re trying to tell me it was some dead Englishman from the 1600s?!”

“Look, dear, I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how difficult being there must have been, but, I’m just saying. It is _real _after all.”

“_Mom_!”


	4. Chapter 4

“So, what’s the plan?” Fred was splayed out on Daphne’s bed, his broken leg propped up on various cushions.

“I get out of here at 6, Shaggy finishes work at 7. I said we’d go pick him up and go get a drink somewhere. How’s that sound?” Velma’s voice came from the speakers on Daphne’s phone. It had been gracefully thrown to the middle of her huge bed, on speakerphone when it had started ringing.

“Sounds good to me.” Fred agreed. “You alright with driving, Daph?”  
“Oh like I have a choice.”

“That means yes, we’ll come and pick you up at 6. See you later, Velm.”

Fred cut the call.

“So, what do you think it is she has to tell us?”

“Something dramatic by the sound of it.”

“You better watch out then Daph, or she’ll be stealing your crown for Most Dramatic.”

“Oh, boo.”

Daphne plonked herself down at the end of her bed. Slinging her feet up onto her friend’s chest – an audible _‘oof’ _escaped Fred as she did so – positioning herself opposite him.

“Anyway, you haven’t told me the latest about Mystery Man yet.”

“Is that what we’re calling him now?”  
“It is.”

By 8 pm they were all crammed into a booth at a dive bar on the edge of town. A half drank glass of water sat in front of Velma; the others slowly nursed beers. They had sat in silence whilst Velma had described the conversation with her mom. The silence was thick in the air, each person feeling like they should say something but not knowing what.

Daphne was the first to speak.

“What the fuck?”

_“Jesus Christ”_, Fred whispered under his breath.

Shaggy said nothing. 

Shaggy stirred in his bed. He could feel the familiar warmth of Scooby curled up at his feet. He fidgeted, adjusting the bed cover, pushing it down his torso. He couldn’t sleep. He rolled over, blindly flapping an arm until it made contact with the other body. He felt an arm, and then a hand gently tugging his own hand forward. Fred has pulled Shaggy in, allowing him to nestle into his shoulder. Shaggy placed his hand on Fred’s chest, feeling the rise and fall of it as Fred lightly snored. He closed his eyes and attempted to breathe in time with Fred. He liked this feeling. He felt anchored; safe. Fred had slept over every night his parents were out of town since the incident at the concert.

This ritual between the two of them had first started months ago, the first night Shaggy’s parents had to leave town for business. His mother had been distraught over the thought of leaving him alone so soon after the incident. Despite assuring him that he was an adult and would be fine on his own, his mother didn’t leave she was certain her son wouldn’t be alone in the house. Shaggy had managed to persuade Fred to stay over, as he lived the closest of them all, but had still felt bad about inconveniencing him. Fred assured him it was fine and that it would be nice to get to hang out with just the two of them, they could watch movies and play videogames.

By that point, Fred’s parents had calmed down about not letting him out of their sight and had happily driven him over to his friend’s house for the night. Fred’s father had complimented Fred on how good of a friend he was, helping Shaggy like this. Fred had smiled to himself.

Fred had arrived around 8:30, sometime after dinner and around five hours after Shaggy’s parents had left. He’d waved goodbye to his dad, telling him he’d back in the morning and had settled himself down on the couch.

After hours of the promised video games and movies, suddenly the issue of sleeping arrangements was raised. Shaggy felt guilty that he hadn’t even thought that far ahead, he could hardly let Fred sleep on the couch - particularly with his broken leg. He felt weird about offering Fred his parents’ bed, that felt like an unjust invasion of their privacy and Shaggy couldn’t bring himself to it.

“You can have my bed, I’ll sleep out here on the sofa.”

“No way, man. I’m not going to kick you out of your bed in your own home. C’mon, I’ll take the couch, it’ll be fine.”

“Are you kidding? You have a broken leg, dude! Don’t be crazy, just take the bed.”

This back and forth had continued for a while until Fred, now exhausted and near exasperated, had suggested that maybe they could both sleep in Shaggy’s bed if they went top and tail. This deal didn’t last very long into the night, however. After hitting his head on Fred’s plaster cast for the seventh time in a row, he’d given in and in a huff had scrabbled his way back round to the correct end of the bed. He tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, accidentally brushing a leg against Fred as he did so. The patch of skin that had made contact was warm and inviting and he felt an alien but oddly comforting knot in his stomach. He was suddenly extremely conscious of his friend’s presence beside him. It was strange. They’d known each other practically their whole lives and been friends for years, and now here they were, sharing a bed. Shaggy was surprised at how normal it felt; how the warmth and weight of Fred’s body next to him was so calming. He felt peaceful. He was glad for his presence, despite his earlier protests to his mom that he’d be fine on his own.

This relationship had continued, a silent agreement between them that Fred would come over when Shaggy was home alone and they would sleep like this. Side by side. Shaggy curled against Fred, his head against his chest. Listening to him breathe. Neither one of them had addressed this outside of the situation, or spoken about it at all. Shaggy decided he liked it that way. It was something solely between them. Quiet and calm and familiar.


	5. Chapter 5

When Fred woke up Shaggy was in the shower. He sighed and rolled over in bed. Scooby was still curled up at the end of it. He reached over and scratched the dog behind the ears. He stretched. His leg ached dully under his boot. He levered himself out of the bed and started to get dressed.

He looked over at the space in the bed where Shaggy had been. The whole room smelt of him. He hadn’t even noticed that Shaggy had a signature smell until after the third time he’d stayed over. He’d been at home in his room when he noticed that his sweater smelt. It wasn’t a bad smell. It was comforting and warm. It smelt like grass and sweat and vegetarian barbecue. Like summer.

_What am I doing? _He rubbed his hands over his face. He had no idea how this had become his norm. He didn’t hate it, in fact, quite the opposite. That’s exactly what he was so worried about. He grabbed a dog-eared notebook and pencil out of his backpack and scribbled a message telling the other boy that he had left. He tore the page out, placing it gently over the rumples in the sheet where he’d been sleeping not long ago.

Scooby whined as Fred made for the door.

“I know. Me too.”

* * *

He needed to talk to someone. He couldn’t go to Daphne’s. It didn’t feel right taking to the rest of the gang about his situation when he hadn’t even discussed it with Shaggy. He couldn’t go home. His parents were at work and his sister was staying at a friend’s. She was still too young to be able to play agony aunt for him anyway.

_Fuck it, _he decided.

He was hammering on the Blakes’ front door before he even realised he was heading there.

“Oh, Freddy! Hello!” Daphne’s mother, Nan, answered the door.

Fred has always liked Nan. She had been so warm and welcoming when he and Daphne had dated, and that had never wavered, even after they broke up and he came out.

She stood there, draped in various silks and pearls like she was Joan Collins in Dynasty or something. Nan was tall, elegant, classically beautiful. She shared her daughter’s fiery red hair - from the bottle of Daphne was to be believed. Fred couldn’t imagine someone like Nan dyeing her hair with bottle dye. Someone like Nan was meant to go to swanky salons and sit there for hours having people paint and preen and twist and snip at her beautiful tresses whilst she sipped champagne and discussed how great life was. However, Fred also knew that the Blakes’ businesses hadn’t been doing as well as they would like as of late and that now someone as ethereal and elegant and important as Nanette Blake was having to dye her own damn hair. He was devastated. He couldn’t let her know. Her adored her. She always knew what to say and what to do and was always so poised; never a hair out of place; never a crack in the mask. This was evident as he stood in the doorway looking at her, a vision in cream silk. She smiled at him so warmly he ached to speak. He couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“I need help.”

Nan enveloped him in a hug. She stood in the doorway, Fred two steps down on a ledge, the only way she could possibly be taller than him. He burrowed his face into her stomach. She screwed his eyes shut, he didn’t want to think anymore. Nan stroked his hair.

“It’s okay, darling. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

_He? _Fred pulled his face away.

“How did you-?”

“I have six daughters Freddy, I know.” Her hand rested on his cheek, she wiped away a tear gently. Fred hadn’t realised he’d been crying.

He managed a watery smile. He looked down, two fresh stains on her dress disrupted her pristine image.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

He stumbled over an apology.

“It’s okay. It’s all fine. Did you want to come in for some tea?”

He couldn’t. He’d promised Velma he’d meet her at work to discuss whatever her latest crazy theory was. He still couldn’t drive with this stupid boot on so he would have to take the bus. He was already running late. He checked his watch - _so _late. Maybe he’d have to get an Uber instead.

“No, I can’t. I’m sorry. I have to go meet Velma.” He smiled again, weakly. Inhaling a deep and shaky breath, he shook his head and wiped his tears.

“Okay, honey. Everything will be alright, okay?”

“Okay.” His voice cracked, betraying him. Things definitely weren’t okay, but it had felt momentarily good to let things out.

_God, when had everything gotten so confusing?_

He said his goodbyes and hobbled out of their driveway. He waited until he was halfway down the street before calling an Uber to the Dinkley’s bookstore.

* * *

“So what’s the latest with this Scottish ghost theory?”

It had been roughly thirty minutes since Fred’s minor breakdown outside Daphne’s house. After finally managing to get an Uber - thank you, small-town America - he’d managed to get to Velma’s family bookstore only an hour later than planned. Luckily for him, Velma had been up to her neck in books and hadn’t even noticed the time. Now, Fred sat on some rickety antique couch in the back of the store, his booted leg resting atop a paint-splattered step ladder (“For reaching higher shelves” Velma had explained as she’d pushed it towards him - although he wasn’t sure quite how much extra height the tiny little thing would add to her).

“Not a ghost, not Scottish and not my theory.” Velma was half-hidden behind various leather-bound volumes of psychic directories and spells and other such nonsense as she sat behind the store’s counter.

Fred rolled his eyes and extended a tired hand as if to say _you know what I meant._

“It’s something my mom came out with, please do not hold me to her standards of crazy.” 

"I can't make any promises."

Velma sighed dramatically, slamming the book shut in front of her. Fred could swear he saw a cloud of dust escape it as she did so. Velma adjusted her glasses, pushing them further up her nose. 

"Well, you know how my mom has this whackadoo theory that whoever kidnapped Dusk is actually an apparition of some dead misogynist?"

"Sure."

"Well, obviously I don't believe it."

“Okay,” Fred fidgeted on the sofa, it creaked underneath him as he shifted his weight, “What do you think is going on then?" 

“Well there’s some weight to what my mom said, I mean I’ve been looking into it and basically this guy’s whole deal was that he was just a horrible misogynist and he became a folklore legend in Cornwall to scare kids.”

“And?”

“And I can see why my mom would make that connection considering the Hex Girls’ reputation.”

“Right. ‘Misandry Forever’.” Fred raised a fist in joking solidarity. 

Velma rolled her eyes, “I just mean a lot of men and conservatives don’t like them due to their image. That could definitely have something to do with it.”

Fred shifted on the sofa again, it creaking and groaning against him as he manoeuvred himself forward. He rested his head in his hands. He could see Velma’s point, but something didn’t quite add up for him.

“Then why take Dusk? Why not Thorn - she’s the lead? Or why not all of them?”

“That’s what I don’t know.”

* * *

Fred had stuck around in the shop until closing, although he wasn’t sure he’d done much there except annoy Velma.

He’d gotten home later that afternoon, just after his parents.


	6. Chapter 6

Fred’s key turned in the lock and the door creaked open. The smell of chicken curry filled the air. His dad’s signature dish. He’d barely stepped through the doorway when a blur of black and yellow flung itself against him. His sister, Eiko, inexplicably dressed as a bumblebee.

“Fred!” She clung to his unbroken leg.

“Hey, Little Fish.”

Eiko pouted at the use of her nickname before Fred scooped her up with his arms, balancing her on his hip.

“I’m not a fish, I’m a bee!”

“Oh, you are?”

Eiko was seven years old. Fred had expected to be an only child – it was how he’d spent the first fourteen years of his life, after all – but he adored Eiko and he couldn’t be happier that she was in his life.

Fred had been born in Crystal Cove. It was where he had spent the first six years of his life. They’d moved away not long after his sixth birthday after his mom had received a fellowship grant to work in San Diego. However, when Peggy Jones – née Ishikawa - discovered she was unexpectedly pregnant she had made the choice to return to Crystal Cove with her family. Fred hadn’t really minded – sure, San Diego was nice, but he’d always felt strangely connected to Crystal Cove. When they returned he’d been just shy of fifteen and enrolled in the local high school. He’d meet – or, re-meet, if that was even a word – Daphne first. She’d made fun of him whilst he was trying out for the track team. He’d looked at her, her red hair gleaming in the sun, her face split in two with a grin, and he’d felt love in its purest form. It was only later of course that he’d realised that that love was purely platonic. And the rest, as they say, was history.

“Dad’s making curry!” Eiko grinned, burying her head against Fred’s shoulder.

“He is? Wow!”

Fred entered the kitchen, placing his sister down gently onto the worktop. She sat proudly above the cutlery drawer, kicking her legs. Her hair had started to come loose, falling in her face where it had escaped the black hood of her bee costume.

“Hey, Dad.”

Fred greeted his father with a hug.

Skip Jones was a warm man, a typical California boy. He’d been obsessed with the sea his whole life, or so he had told his son, anyway. Skip was much shorter than Fred, rocking in at a whole 5’8, compared to his son’s advantage of 6’3. Fred had inherited his height from his mother - Peggy was 6’ tall. Fred would never grow tired of looking at photographs of his parents standing next to each other, his father always looking up at his mother like she had put the stars in the sky herself. He hoped that if or when he got married he’d have a love that was as true as theirs – no matter how sappy that made him sound.

“Freddy, good day?” Skip placed down the wooden spoon he’d been using to stir the sauce he was making, turning to face his son.  
“Yeah, it was alright. How long until dinner?” Fred nodded towards the stove.

“40 minutes still.”

“Oof.” Fred grabbed both hands at his side dramatically as if he’d been shot.

Skip rolled his eyes, “Okay, okay. Go annoy your mother.”

Peggy was working on the computer. Fred walked past the office, and seeing the look of concentration on her face, decided perhaps it was best not to disturb her. Instead, he went to his bedroom.

His bed was still made from the day before, clothes sat piled next to his closet; a box of half-opened bleach sat on his chest of drawers. He knew there was something he had meant to do. He grabbed the box of bleach and headed to the bathroom. He sat on the edge of the bath, stirring a bowl of bleach powder and ammonia. It stank. Fred hated the smell of bleach, but particularly hair bleach. It always smelt worse to him somehow, its smell permeating his clothes and pillows for weeks after using. Once he was satisfied it was mixed well enough he grabbed his old toothbrush from the vanity. He began combing the mixture into his jet-black roots. He brushed lightly, careful not to pull on his hair; trying hard to think of anything other than the overwhelming smell that now filled the bathroom. He met his own eyes in the mirror. He hadn’t realised he’d been sticking his tongue out with concentration. He hadn’t realised he’d looked so tired. Why did he look so tired? He placed the toothbrush down on the counter, moving closer to the mirror. He had dark circles under his eyes and his skin was dry. He wiped his palms over his cheeks, pulling his skin taut and watching as blood rushed to the surface. His cheeks filled with colour in patches, his cheekbones flush with uneven blotches. He flicked a stray eyelash from his nose. His self-inspection was interrupted by the doorbell ringing.

“Freddy, can you get that?” His dad called up the stairs.

He answered the door, bleach still in his hair and his toothbrush applicator in one hand. He didn’t remember picking it up again.

“Dear Lord, please tell me you don’t actually bleach your roots with a toothbrush.”

Daphne stood in the doorway, mock horror on her face at the sight of him.

“…I don’t not,” Fred tucked the toothbrush behind his back, suddenly sheepish, “Uh, what are you doing here?”

“My mom said you came to the house earlier and wanted to see me?”

“Oh. No.”

“’No’?”

“No, uh, I mean… it’s fine. It’s nothing.”

Daphne looked at him with an expression he couldn’t read. Neither of them spoke for a while.

“…Can I come in?” Daphne was the first to break the silence.

“Oh,” Fred jilted back to reality, moving out of the doorway, allowing his friend to enter, “Yeah, sorry.”

His head suddenly felt heavy. His scalp twinged. It felt like poisonous spiders burrowing into his skin. His skull hurt. His _skull_. He didn’t know a skull _could_ hurt. His movements felt laboured. His brain was still at the door, tucked in the doorjamb; his body was by the wall, practically slumped against it.

“Are you okay?”

The words melted in his ears like hot wax. He could hear the sea. His name was being called. It sounded far away as if someone on the street was shouting it – or, perhaps he was on the beach. He was in the sea, bobbing up and down with the water – the warm salt solution lapped over his body, clogging his ears and burning his nose. On the shore, someone left footprints in the white sand. They waved at him but Fred’s eyes stung from the water, he couldn’t see them. In the distance, someone was calling his name. In the distance…

“_FRED_?”

He blinked. Daphne was staring at him, her brow furrowed; her eyes panicked. Her cheeks were flushed.

Fred blinked again, confused. He felt the last of the seawater drain from his ears. He was in the hallway of his house. His shoulders were flat against the wall. His head rolled forward. Daphne was staring up at him. Her dark green eyes burned through him. She had a vice grip on his left arm, her knuckles white.

“Fred, what the fuck? Are you okay?”

“I don’t…” His mouth felt dry.

“Where were you?”

_Where was he?_

“What?”

“You…” Daphne inhaled slowly, Fred watched as her hands lifted to her face, she combed through her hair. Her hands were shaking slightly. Fred wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Daphne shake. “You weren’t here. I mean... You were here but you _weren’t_. Your eyes…”

Scared, Fred realised suddenly. She was scared. He hadn’t thought that possible.

_The beach. He’d been on The Beach._

“I’m fine.” He looked at his friend. He’d never seen her so small. A pang sliced through his stomach. He’d done that. He’d made her worry.

“I’m fine, honestly. Sorry. I just didn’t sleep great last night. I just spaced out a bit.”

Daphne looked unconvinced. Shit.

Fred split his face into a smile. He felt every muscle in his face fighting against him. He felt each muscle move individually. He worried he looked manic. He prayed he didn’t.

Daphne returned the smile. Thank God. She took a deep breath and Fred watched as her shoulders dropped. He saw her physically relax. _Thank God_. 

She looked at him, and Fred looked back. Her eyes bore through him. He was certain then that she knew. That she knew _everything_.

She opened her mouth and Fred knew it, he knew she was going to tell him she understood and he was going to stand there and open his mouth and all the words and secrets and hidden truths would come tumbling out and he’d have no control over it.

Instead: “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” Fred exhaled the word. It escaped his mouth in a short, breathy syllable. It was hardly a word, more of a guttural sound.

Daphne believed him, somehow. She shot him a light smile, “Okay.” She let go of his arm. Fred hadn’t noticed she’d still been holding it. She stroked his forearm gently as she loosened her grip. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Fred nodded. He opened the door and watched her disappear onto the street.

The second he was certain she was out of sight he raced back up the stairs two at a time. He skidded into the bathroom and flung the toilet seat open. He scrunched to the floor as he was violently sick into the bowl. His stomach constricted. It felt like someone crumpling an empty chip bag – all sharp angles and misplaced air.

He sat back up. Why had he seen The Beach? There was something in his mind, something he couldn’t reach. Something he’d forgotten but hadn’t remembered forgetting. He groaned. It had been a long day. He probably was just overly tired, maybe what he’d told Daphne hadn’t been such a lie after all.

Anchoring a hand on the bathtub behind him, he dragged himself back up to standing. His face greeted him in the mirror. His skin looked sallow. He still had bleach in his hair.

_Shit, the bleach_. He dunked his head into the sink, feeling water race through his hair. The water was warm and the bleach made it smell salty. It flooded his nose and stung his cheeks. A niggling sensation at the back of his brain crawled closer to the front. The Beach… On the beach, something, someone…. Saltwater rushed over him. There was something there….

He screwed his eyes shut tighter and pushed the thought away. No. NO.

_No_.

He blindly pawed for the towel next to the sink. He stood up again, his head was light and fuzzy. He scrubbed the towel across his scalp hard until he could think of nothing but the itching sting it created. When he was satisfied he dropped the towel, turning back to look in the mirror. He’d left the bleach on for too long. His roots were ice white. The rest of his hair was an eggy yellow.

_Shit_.


	7. Chapter 7

Some days you wake up and it feels as if every muscle in your body is conspiring against you. On those days you look in the mirror and no matter how hard you try you can’t get all thirty three muscles in your face to lift your expression into a smile. You feel as if you’re walking through treacle. You put all your effort into moving - trying to force your legs to walk in some sort of recognisably human fashion. You feel like a shell. Everything is difficult and everything is out of reach. You’re sitting in a ditch. Someone has stolen the ladder; you can’t climb out. It’ll pass. You know it will. But you have no idea when. Time passes imperceptibly when you’re stuck in this hole.

Fred is having one of those days. He feels as if his brain had been wrapped in cotton wool. His head is thick and heavy and the wool distorted and warps any thoughts that swim through. It is on these days that Fred often imagines how nice it would feel if he could crack his skull open like a walnut and feel the rush of cold air against the dense mass of his brain. The air would puncture the surface and cool him down, it would flush everything from the inside. He would be cleansed. He has these thoughts and revels in the imagined sensation of such an event.

He thinks of his parents and hates himself for thinking such things.

When he finally manages to fling himself out of bed he stands up. Instead of his feet meeting his shag carpet and feeling the fibres between his toes, he _clunks _to the carpet and nearly topples over. The manacles around his left foot unbalance him, pulling him back to reality. His boot. Ugh.

He should phone Daphne. He should shower. He should stretch. He should talk to his mom. He should wash the van. He should text Shaggy. He should message Velma. He should spend time with his dad. He should message his uncle to find out when he can continue his apprenticeship. He should get up. He should be a valued member of society.

Instead, he sits on the floor.

*

Daphne is worried. She hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Fred’s freak out. He’d said he was fine but she’d seen him. She’d seen something in his eyes that had chilled her to the bone. She was scared. It was alien. She’d never seen him look like that before. It couldn’t have been nothing. It couldn’t have been a coincidence, of that she was sure. First, he turns up at her house looking for her and then she goes to see him and he freaks out? What was that about? And why wouldn’t he tell her? They were supposed to tell each other everything.

They’d always said that. They were friends, weren’t they?

She had already tried to ring him twice this morning, bombarding his phone with increasingly panicked texts alongside this. And yet, radio silence. She didn’t like this. Fred always replied to her. He loved to talk. He was the first person in the room to crack a joke, even if said joke was nonsensical. He was the first person in the room to suggest a solution to a problem, even if that solution was also nonsensical.

Fred was the soul of their group. He brought them together - okay, so it may have been _her _that had reconnected with Velma and then Velma that had brought Shaggy into the fray, but it had been _Fred _that had first started all of this. All those years ago, when they were children, and he’d been so sure of the Monster under his bed. It had been him that had spun stories and theories of this creature in his inhabitance. And they’d all sat, staring at him, knees tucked up to their chins, hanging on his every word. He was their leader. No one needed to say it - not then and not now - but it was undeniable that he was. She’d adored him for as long as she could remember – even in the wilderness years where he’d moved to San Diego and they’d lost touch; even then, even when she couldn’t remember his name or quite what he looked like, she was sure that she loved him.

She blinks and there, she sees him. She sees Fred, no more than seven years old; scabby knees and toothy grin, babbling about trapping his Monster. Then he’s seventeen; in his running kit, grabbing his side, sweat dripping down his brow. He’s grimacing, but he still smiles when he sees her. He’s eighteen now, in the tuxedo he wore to prom; his collar undone, his tie hanging loose. Tears are in his eyes but he is laughing. Then, he stands in front of her, now twenty-two, and she sees him as she saw him the night before. He’s wearing an old t-shirt and jeans, his hair sticks up wildly, painted blue at the roots. The bleach lends a salty chemical smell to the air, so thick that Daphne can taste it. His face is stone. His dark eyes are almost black – they look glassy; they’re dolls eyes. She wants to touch him, to reach out and grab him; tell him that everything is okay. But, there’s a voice in the back of her head telling her that she can’t make that promise. She watches as his brow furrows and she notices his face – so vacant of its usual colour and exuberance – and she feels sick. She realizes then what it is that she had seen, she had watched as a part of Fred’s mask had cracked – a mask that she hadn’t known he had been wearing; that perhaps he himself had not realized he was wearing either. She thinks of him now, sitting on his bedroom floor, curled up against his mirror, a piece of porcelain in one hand and surgical superglue in the other. She could almost see him then, lining the porcelain – a shard of his forehead which had fractured away - with the glue, carefully putting it back in place, running his forefinger over the cracks until they disappeared under the tacky glue.

She was shaken from this image by her phone buzzing in her pocket: Shaggy, inquiring if she was still coming to the diner for lunch. She’d almost forgotten.

She grabbed her nearest bag and scrabbled around her room chucking her keys and purse into it and headed for the door. Fred’s van still sat on her driveway. She felt bad using it without asking him first even though she knew that he wouldn’t mind – it wasn’t as if he could drive it with his broken leg anyway; hence why it sat on her drive and the keys swung in her bag. She clambered into the driver’s seat, silently praying that Fred wouldn’t be upset with her for this, and peeled out onto the road, heading for the edge of town.

*

Half an hour later, Daphne, Velma and Shaggy were sitting in a booth at Vic’s Diner. A TV above the counter blared the news. Shaggy stared distractedly at it as he shoved messy handfuls of mayonnaise-dressed fries into his mouth. He could hear Velma and Daphne talking to the side of him, but their conversation was nothing more than white noise; he was lost in thought. Just as it had been for Fred and Daphne – and Velma too, as they would all later find out – the previous evening had been a strange one for Shaggy Rogers.

He’d been out, taking Scooby for a walk, and when he returned home his parents had been sitting in the lounge, waiting for him. The way they’d looked at him… their eyes… dark and round and whole and too big and alien and human and menacing and… _no_, they were his parents. He was just tired. He hadn’t been expecting them to be home, however, he was certain that his mom had told him they wouldn’t be back until much later in the evening.

She’d been so worried about leaving him alone after the incident at the concert – she had cried as she left him. Shaggy had felt terrible – he was an adult, he should be fine by himself; and yet…

They must have been able to leave early, that was all. He’d greeted his parents, hugging them both, and clambered up the stairs to his room, Scooby trotting at his heels. It had been getting late by this time, and so Shaggy had climbed into bed. And thus, he’d lain there, giving the crumpled mess of sheets on the left side a wide berth, the note from the person who had made said mess discarded on his nightstand. And it had been as he lay there, in the space that exists between wake and sleep, that something had occurred to him. The fire had been on in the lounge, and yet when he’d greeted his parents they had been cold. _Ice _cold. The kind of cold that penetrates your skin and settles in your bones, making them ache and groan. It had unsettled him in a way he couldn’t put words to.

Before he could dwell longer on this half-formed thought, he tipped over the edge into sleep – warm hands snatching him down into near unconsciousness.

And now, he sat in the diner, his friends’ conversation mere background noise as he stared at the television, the flickering images washing over him. A familiar face flashed up on the screen, ripping him from his lazy thoughts.

“Hey, Vic?” He called to the older man behind the counter, “Can you turn this up?”

Vic fiddled with the remote, jabbing at buttons, watching as green bars worked their way across the screen. The volume increased. Daphne and Velma had stopped talking.

‘_It’s been two weeks since the disappearance of Amanda Wilson – known to many as Dusk – famed for her part in the band Hex Girls. Her parents have started an online campaign to spread awareness of their daughter’s disappearance, asking that anyone that may have seen her to please contact the police. Now, for the first time since her disappearance, her bandmates Mizzes Saaliha Nawaz and Nicole Washington – who go by the stage names Thorn and Luna – have spoken out.’ _

The screen changed. Thorn and Luna sat behind a long table, covered with microphones. Thorn was holding a stack of papers in her hands; Luna was staring down at the table. They looked to be shadows of their former selves. Thorn began to speak:

_‘It’s been weeks since we’ve seen our friend Mandy. She was taken from us during a concert we were performing at in the California town of Crystal Cove. We are still in shock. Mandy is a beautiful person and we miss her very much,’ _She grabbed Luna’s hand over the table, a tear slipped down Luna’s cheek, _‘if you’ve seen her, or you know where she might be, please contact the police. Please bring Mandy back to us. And Mandy, if you’re watching this, me and Nic, we love you; please come home.’_

The cameras cut away and the newsreader had returned, a solemn look on her face. _‘That was Saaliha Nawaz and Nicole Washington there, speaking publicly about the disappearance of their bandmate Amanda Wilson for the first time. I have been informed that the group and Ms Wilson’s parents are using the hashtags #FindDusk and #SaveMandy online to spread information. There’ll be more of this story as it continues to develop. _

_‘Now, we go over to the sports desk for the latest there. How’s it looking-?’_

Shaggy had stopped listening. He turned back to the table, where his friends sat. Daphne’s jaw was slack, her eyes red and watery; Velma’s face looked strained, her eyebrows knitted together.

“I’d almost forgotten.” Shaggy is the first to speak.

“I hadn’t.” Velma clasps her hands together atop the table. She wrings them together, fingers over knuckles, twisting and turning irritably.

“Are you okay, V?”

“Something isn’t right about this. Something _really_ isn’t right about this.”


End file.
